


It Is The Springtime Of Our Loving

by librata



Category: X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Canon Disabled Character, Charles Xavier has a Ph.D in Adorable, Charles Xavier in a Wheelchair, Erik Has Feelings, Erik Logic Is The Best Logic, Erik is a Sweetheart, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Crack, Honestly Charles What Are You Thinking, M/M, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-01
Updated: 2020-04-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:08:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22980742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/librata/pseuds/librata
Summary: Whelp...fluff?
Relationships: Erik Lehnsherr/Charles Xavier
Comments: 48
Kudos: 44
Collections: Nothing Is So Beautiful As Spring Challenge 2020





	1. Thaw (An Evident Failing of Homeostasis)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One swallow does not make a summer, but one skein of geese, cleaving the murk of a March thaw, is the spring.  
> \- Aldo Leopold

“For God’s sake, Erik, that is _enough_ blankets.”

“You’re still shaking like a leaf, Charles,” countered his husband as he tucked yet another fluffy throw around Charles’ legs. “I’m not going to have you catching hypothermia due to an idiotic suggestion I made.”

“And if I’d done the same thing without your suggestion?”

“Oh, well, I’d let you freeze to death, of course.”

“Of course,” Charles agreed as he cradled his mug of tea between frozen hands, willing his icy fingers to warm at the contact. “You’d be rid of me at last.”

“Finally.” Erik frowned as he placed a hand over Charles’ own, clear displeased with the chill he could still feel. “Why are you still so cold?”

It had been a good idea, really. The first two months of the year had brought only challenges upon the school—miserable weather, a terrible flu, and a hideous bout of pneumonia that had Charles out of commission for a good month. 

A nasty virus for most, pneumonia was one of those things that wreaked utter havoc on Charles especially. One of the more brutal complications of paraplegia was a weakened immune system and decreased lung capacity, so when his body fell victim to a virus like pneumonia, the path back to health was a long, arduous one.

Only in the last week or so had Charles felt good enough to reintegrate himself with the school’s daily goings-on, and in celebration, Erik had surprised him with a delightfully traditional garden tea. 

All had gone wonderfully, until the blizzard started. 

Like the flip of a switch, their pleasant, picturesque snowfall spun into the fiercest blizzard of the year so far. Visibility had dropped to near zero—Charles was _very_ glad that he had Erik to guide his chair, else he would have gotten lost on the trek back to the mansion. And by the time they finally pushed their way into the mudroom, both were snow-caked and soaking wet.

An hour later, Charles still could not shake the chill in his bones. 

Erik had quickly helped him into warm clothes and settled them by a fireplace, hot tea in hand and a swath of blankets cocooning his body, but there was still a ferocious cold pooled in his chest that radiated in shivers through his. extremities. The chatter in his jaw had thankfully stopped, but the involuntary trembling would not stop.

“An evident imbalance of homeostasis,” Charles replied, and when a roll of Erik’s eyes confirmed that the man was in no mood for silliness, he sighed. “Stop fretting, darling. Please. I’m fine. I’ll be fine.”

The projection from Erik’s mind was quiet and incoherent, but Charles thought me might be able to pluck _pneumonia_ and _my fault_ in the murmur. 

“I’ve told you already,” Charles continued, watching as Erik began to aimlessly toy with his ball bearings, a nervous habit he’d practiced in all the years Charles had known him. “You can’t get pneumonia from merely being in the cold. The virus has to be present already. I’ve shaken it completely.”

“What do you know?” Erik snapped back, turning too busy himself with the fire.

“I’m a scientist.”

“You’re a schoolteacher.” When Charles didn’t reply, Erik’s shoulders softened, and he turned around to face the man. In the warm glow of the roaring embers, Charles couldn’t help but notice how bloody _well_ Erik looked. The taper of his waist, the breadth of his shoulders, the angular jaunt of his jaw. If he didn’t know that Erik would firmly rebuff an offer, Charles would assuredly be petitioning for a quickie. “Pardon me if I’m cautious, Charles,” said Erik, light eyes piercing. “But if I can take measures to keep you from falling ill again, I’d like to.”

The telepath understood, of course. How could he not. 

“What would make you feel better?” Charles asked then.

Charles thought that he was likely the only person alive who would detect the minuscule flicker of relief cross Erik’s features. In a few long strides, Erik crossed the space between them and outstretched his arms in question. “May I?”

Charles nodded. 

There was always respect, when Erik performed tasks like lifting Charles from his wheelchair. So many well-intentioned others could be quite cavalier in their insistence upon assisting Charles. One might push his chair without prompting, thrust their hands over to brace him, even speak for him as if he wasn’t capable of doing so himself. It was something he’d grown to watch for among companions, something he was quick to stamp out where it arose. 

With Erik, there had never been an ounce of that. Fretful as he was, Erik _never_ imposed anything upon Charles. In spite of an open invitation to push Charles’ chair whenever it became necessary or convenient, Erik always waited for a nod of approval to do so. A silent, telepathic ask before stepping in to assist, regular glances to ensure he wasn’t overstepping. Erik liked to act like he cared little for empathy, but he could be the most intuitive, emotionally-intelligent man Charles had ever met.

“Now what?” Charles murmured once safe in Erik’s arms.

“Now, you thaw.” Gracefully, Erik strode toward the overstuffed armchair nearest the fire and sat, arranging them both so that Charles was comfortably nestled in his lap. Strong arms twined around Charles’ torso, enveloping him in a warmth that made fire pale in comparison. This warmth trickled through his blood, toward his chest, and deftly began to chip away at the icy freeze that had locked in his chest.

“Mm, that’s not bad,” Charles admitted, his eyes butterflying shut as Erik’s lips began to dot along the slope of his neck. “I wouldn’t absolutely hate it if you kept doing that.”

“No?” Erik murmured. Evidently, he was lost in his task, too focused on ensuring that every inch of Charles within reach would be met with a warm caress of his lips. 

“No,” he agreed, suddenly sleepy in the cozy swaddle of his husband. “I truly don’t understand how you’re so _warm_ all the time.”

Gently, Erik turned Charles’ face toward his own, those impenetrable eyes focused on Charles’ mouth. “An evident failing of homeostasis,” he said, and then closed the space between their lips.


	2. Bloom (An Orchid for Your Thoughts, Erik?)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything is blooming most recklessly; if it were voices instead of colors, there would be an unbelievable shrieking into the heart of the night  
> \- Ranier Maria Rilke

His mother had always worried that his preference for alone time would result in an isolated adulthood, but Erik was perfectly content with living as he did. With his nearest neighbor a good mile-and-a-half away, Erik enjoyed reigning over his own space, his own land, his own little kingdom where no one could bother him. He had his metalwork, his books, and his garden, all of which he maintained on his own and to his liking.

And, besides, he had Charles.

Resplendent with a dark, waxy stem and a small team of magenta blossoms dotting the tip, Charles was the favorite of Erik’s many houseplants, sat proudly on his desk in the warm bask of light that arched over the space each morning. Erik had never been partial to orchids—they required far too much maintenance for such little payout—but there was just something about Charles that had called to him, that made Erik feel full of warmth and light when he first laid eyes on him.

He’d purchased Charles over a year ago now from a hardware store garden center on an errand to resupply his topsoil. While waiting to check out, Erik’s eyes were drawn, like magnets, to the potted plants display, raking over the small blooms until finally resting upon Charles. 

He was smaller than his orchid counterparts, and his pink petals appeared to be on the cusp of severing from the vine-like stem, but the rich color of his blossom, the sharp, jagged jaunt of his stem called to Erik, soaked him in a tonic of sunlight and wind. 

_No, orchids are useless,_ he’d told himself. _Picky little things that grew attached to whatever neighboring plant they could in the wild._ A utilitarian by nature, Erik had little patience for useless things.

Regardless, Charles had gone home with Erik, that day.

To nurse Charles back to health, Erik had treated him with extra care. He’d repotted him in specialized orchid wood chips and varied the frequency and volume of water with precision. Over a few weeks, Erik had experimented with placing Charles in a number of locations which were served with a sumptuous lick of indirect sunlight each day, until, at long last, Charles found his happiest home at the head of Erik’s desk. Soon enough, his blooms began to grow plump and velvety once more.

Charles was smug, and demanded attention.

Of course, he hadn’t always been called Charles. Erik couldn’t pinpoint exactly when he’d decided that the orchid’s name was Charles, but at some stage, he’d started to refer to him as such. The name Charles _did_ make sense—it was regal, slightly pompous, important. A timeless, smart name for such a wonderful plant, one which fit him just so.

When Erik imagined Charles’ voice, it was an English voice.

He could nearly hear the low baritone in his head, laughing freely and challenging Erik’s musings with gusto. Charles wasn’t the type to accept what he was told and keep his opinions to himself—quite the opposite, in fact. Charles was a flower with strong opinions, opinions which clashed with Erik’s own at every turn. When Erik spoke aloud to Charles in want, hoping for a sounding board or an easy second opinion, Charles pulled no stops in letting Erik know what _he_ thought about Erik’s business. It could be frustrating, but usually, it was helpful. Fulfilling, even.

They got on well, Erik and Charles. Perhaps Charles didn’t have an _actual_ voice, or even a brain, for that matter, but Erik knew that Charles was a plant with a lot of personality. He had his particulars, his unique needs, and Erik felt that they were a well-matched duo. Dutifully, he watered Charles, enriched his pot with nutrients, and ensured he received his daily quote of sunlight and fresh air. With all things done well, Charles was a very happy orchid.

One morning, in late November, Erik woke up with the flu.

He felt as if his body had been run over by a truck, each muscle and bone splintering with even the slightest movement. Simultaneously, Erik was cold and warm, chills wracking his spine even as sweat pelted down chest. An intense throbbing cracked against the inside of his skull, intensifying with each unbidden cough. Erik decided then and there that he would never be getting out of bed again, which was a grand idea until his stomach revolted and sent him running to the toilet to vomit.

For an entire week, Erik could to little other than squander in bed, teetering in that strange space between sleep and wakefulness. Logically, he knew that the virus would run its course. He was a healthy, strong man who looked after his body. Illogically, Erik thought that he might just die at any moment—his entire being felt so impossibly horrific that death just _had_ to be lying in wait at the end of his bed.

Logic, however, was the triumphant one. Slowly, vitality began to seep back into Erik’s body, stoking a current of energy through his limbs. Eventually, Erik awoke to the pleasant surprise of quiet in his head and comfort in his muscles, peace in the aftermath of such a sickly virus. Relishing the clarity of a healthy body, Erik padded into his kitchen to fix himself a hearty meal, depleted so drastically of nutrients.

And then, he saw Charles.

A thin coat of dust blanketing his entire form, Charles’ flowers had fallen unceremoniously to the surface of his desk. The dark of his stem had faded into something drier, woodier. Erik’s breath caught as he fingered at the shriveled vine, sapped of life and depleted of vitality entirely. 

“Oh, Charles,” he whispered to the orchid.

Charles said nothing back.

Now, Erik was not one for sentimentality, don’t get him wrong. Objects were objects, things were things. Plants flourished and died, just like any living creature. Except, with Charles, an intense wash of sadness and guilt creeped into Erik’s bones at the sight of his devastation. He could have easily given Charles his daily dose of water at the very least (and then apologized for his lack of attention later). Now, there was nothing to apologize to aside from a tangle of decaying sticks, browning leaves.

Erik got to work immediately.

He took a pair of pruning shears to Charles’ stalk and trimmed it until only two inches or so remained. The rest he discarded with only some sadness, and reminded himself that Charles wouldn’t want to hang on to any decay. Charles wanted to be beautiful, after all.

With that done, Erik gently removed Charles from the hand-crafted metal pot and placed him in a smaller plastic one. The idea of putting something as wonderful as Charles in such a blasé container would typically make Erik twitch, but Charles needed the tight quarters, at the moment. That would help keep Charles’ roots together and humidity at the correct levels.

Finally, Erik flooded Charles with tepid water until his base was soaked through, and placed him at the top of his desk to wait.

Erik had never been great at waiting.

Each day, he checked on Charles, felt that his bark was moist and his fertilizer was plentiful. There was little visible change in the pared spike for a long while, but that also meant that Charles wasn’t getting worse. Erik tried to observe things from that positive angle, but it was difficult to do without the encouragement of Charles’ coy voice. 

Giving up would be easy, but Erik was determined to at least try. Charles deserved a genuine attempt at resurrection. Erik’s guilt would compound, otherwise. 

It was mid-January when Erik finally noticed a change. 

Charles’ stalk was lighter now, a rich, vibrant green, which meant that nutrients were traveling from the roots to the spike. The change was a positive one—Charles was _finally_ showing signs of vitality, signs that he was ready wake up again. This did not mean that they were in the clear, of course. There was a lot that could derail their progress and send Charles back toward the grave, but it was a small victory. Erik’s efforts weren’t for naught.

As the days began to lengthen, so too did Charles. He grew tremendously through February, his stalk bending and dipping in an entirely different way than it had before. Erik placed clips and wire around the stem to bind it once more to a brand-new stake, which held Charles upright and strong. Tiny buds had formed along the edge of the stem, which, while promising, still did not mean that all was well once more. Charles’ voice was still quiet, and so Erik knew that he had not yet revived the orchid from demise.

And then, on a morning in early March, Charles unfurled his first new bloom.

It was light pink and still tinged with the green of newness. A minuscule pattern of darkened dots lay in wait on the silky pedals, ready to sprawl arrogantly across the rest of Charles’ blossoms.

A smile crawled its way across Erik’s face, the familiar swallows of warmth and comfort washing over his body once more. 

“Hello there, Charles,” Erik said to the orchid, admiring his elegant stalk, his stronghold of roots. “How I’ve missed you.”

Erik was delighted to hear, in that dulcet English baritone, that Charles had missed Erik, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No, I wasn’t on drugs when I wrote this.


	3. Birds (A Hobby Fit for Old Ladies and Dull People)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My heart, the bird of the wilderness, has found its sky in your eyes.  
> \- Rabindranath Tagore

“Of all of your terrible ideas, Charles,” said Erik. “This might be the most terrible of all.”

“You’re being dramatic,” said Charles. “I’ve had many, many worse ideas than this. You ought to know that better than anyone.

“No idea of yours has ever gotten us _this_ lost before,” Erik huffed as he levitated Charles’ wheelchair over a gnarled root. “Who in their right _chooses_ to go bird-watching, anyway?”

“It’s fun,” his husband argued innocently, binoculars still clutched between his hands, because, apparently, looking at some bloody overgrow pigeon was something worth dying in the woods for. “We’ll probably come across it soon anyway—the guide said she lives quite a ways away from the trail.”

It wasn’t Charles’ fault, really, Erik mused with gritted teeth. The stupid park ranger was the one who had told Charles that some stupid Pacific Albatross lived in the stupid forest, but could only be found when she was caught unawares. Erik did not think that he could care any less about some ridiculous bird, but his husband’s ears had perked up almost instantly. 

“Albatross?” Charles had said, eyes suddenly alight and full of an interest that Erik should have known spelled doom. About a month ago, Charles had taken a sudden and serious interest in birds, which was the latest in a string of random hobbies that always drove them into strange scenarios like this. “I didn’t know they came this far North.”

They didn’t. Not usually. This Albatross was _special,_ apparently, and if any sucker was going to go out of his way to look at the stupid special bird, Erik knew that his sucker would be the first.

“Have I told you that I really hate bird-watching?” Erik huffed as he wiped a line of sweat from his brow. They had ventured well off the wheelchair accessible path at this point, and the terrain was growing more and more rugged as they delved into the forest. Charles’ wheelchair wasn’t heavy—levitating it over rocks and branches was easy enough, but keeping it upright in the air as he climbed and tried to maintain sure footing for himself was becoming increasingly difficult. 

Plus, it was _hot_ , he’d left his water bottle in the car, and it was well past lunchtime now. Glumly, Erik remembered the ham and cheese sandwich that was undoubtedly spoiling in the packed heat of the trunk, stomach growling at the mere thought of what it might taste like. 

Charles, on the other hand, looked refreshed and lovely as ever as he sat in his chair, head on a swivel in search for this rat with wings. His dark hair shone brilliantly in the sun, and there was even a small flush of color topping his cheekbones, which made his eyes dazzle even more spectacularly. 

Erik _really_ hated bird-watching.

“It’s a hobby fit for old ladies and dull people,” he continued, and set Charles’ chair on the forest floor before he himself came to rest on a low, flat rock. For a moment, Charles looked poised to protest, but upon seeing Erik’s bedraggled (okay, _grumpy_ ) state, let any argument die on his tongue. 

“You asked to come along,” Charles reminded Erik as he handed him his thermos of water, which Erik drank from conservatively despite his thirst. If he was to die out here, Erik didn’t want to leave Charles without water at the very least. “Quit your complaining, will you?”

“I said I would come for a walk,” Erik corrected. “Because you said you were only coming for a quick stroll. If I’d have known you were going on a spiritual journey, I’d have stayed home.”

Charles’ face darkened for a moment, and Erik figured he’d touched a bit of a nerve—if Erik hadn’t come, Charles wouldn’t have been able to venture off the path at all. But, before he could tear into Erik for insensitivity, his eyes widened like saucers.

“Oh,” he whispered.

And when Erik turned to follow Charles’ gaze, his own eyes widened, too.

There it was, cresting just above the treetops with powerful wings spread across a length Erik would have never thought possible. The albatross, solitary and sure minded. Even from where Erik sat on his rock, he could see how its plumage was soft and downy, a brilliant white that faded into grey.

And yet, as far as Erik was concerned, it was still just a bird.

“She’s gorgeous,” Charles remarked, binoculars glued to his eyes as he followed the creature’s path across the sky. “Oh, Erik. Look at her feathers. Those _wings_ , she’s probably just back from a long journey to sea for food. Oh, I’m sure she’s so tired…and…. _and,_ if she’s all the way out here, she could be tending to an egg! An egg, Erik! Can you imagine?”

Erik could not help but smile as Charles continued to wax poetic about the bird. This, Erik knew, was Charles’ bliss. A random, sudden pursuit, an outpouring of knowledge that he’d attained somewhere. Holding Erik hostage in the middle of a forest so he could tell him about it all. A true scholar at heart, Charles was. 

The smile on Charles’ face and the excitement in his voice, then, was enough to remind Erik why he’d agreed to haul Charles all the way out here in the first place. These pursuits of interest were precisely what made Charles so amazing, so brilliant, and it wouldn’t be fair or right of him to allow something as silly as his legs to keep him from doing just that.

“Have you gotten your fill?” Erik asked once the bird had finally glided out of sight. “Was your bird all you dreamed it would be?”

“And more,” Charles affirmed, beaming as he let the binoculars fall. “She’s gorgeous. I never thought I’d see an albatross so close.”

“A noteworthy achievement. Can we get out of here, now?”

“Of course,” nodded Charles. “But, take note of our path on the way out, will you?”

“Why?”

The telepath smiled. “Well, on the way here, I noticed several butterflies with the most incredible patterning on their wings. Once I find out what they are, we have to come back to observe them, too.”

Erik groaned.


	4. Garden (When Weeds, in Wheels, Shoot Long and Lovely and Lush)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What would be ugly in a garden constitutes beauty in a mountain.  
> \- Victor Hugo

Had Charles not already been dealing with a constant headache by virtue of his mutation, his husband would certainly be the root cause of all the pain instead.

“Erik, my love,” he sighed. “I think it’s time to admit defeat.”

The stubborn set of Erik’s jaw was noticeable as he pulled on his work trousers. He had _the_ look in his eye, the look that foretold a battle to the death with no fear of consequence. Which, Charles knew, was to be expected. Erik was not a good loser.

“I said it once, Charles, and I’ll say it again,” said Erik, sliding his feet into his boots. “I’m bringing that garden back to life.”

And so he went, determined and confident, into the dewy morning to attempt the impossible. Talented and tenacious as Erik was, Charles was sure that there would be no unearthing the garden from the dead.

It had been neglected for years, the mansion’s garden. Hard dirt, dead bushes, weedy grass had overtaken a space that had once been lush and rich under the tireless maintenance of paid professionals. Resurrecting any life was a job too steep for one man alone, but Erik refused help and insisted that he could provide the magic on his own.

Pulling his coat tighter around himself, Charles wheeled onto the balcony that overlooked Erik’s battlefield, watching as he toiled. The man was a moving work of art. Those strong arms, sure legs. Like a sculpture come to life, hard-headedness and all. 

“Oh, Erik,” Charles mused to himself, stealing one last glance at the man before turning round to continue unpacking their things.

Just before lunchtime, Charles glanced up at the sound of a creaking door, followed by the clomp of boots along the wood floor. Moments later, Erik arrived in the arched entry of the kitchen. His face was flushed and smeared with dirt, hands stained with mulch. The white t-shirt he’d donned now appeared brown, as did his jeans.

“You look well,” Charles noted. 

“It’s going wonderfully,” Erik replied as he strode toward the moving box-covered kitchen table, and then took a seat beside Charles. “It’s already full of life.”

“Full of life?” Charles challenged, scrunching his nose as a clod of mud fell from Erik’s jeans and onto the kitchen floor. “Weeds don’t really count as life.”

Erik frowned, and pulled a yellow dandelion flower from his back pocket. He glanced at it for a moment. “Do they not?”

A small flutter tumbled in Charles’ stomach then as an unbidden smile stretched across his lips. Erik could be so bloody _cute,_ sometimes. Earnest and honest, humbly thoughtful. Someone who divested his whole self in everything, anything he chose to do, be it planting a garden or showing affection. 

“I suppose they could count,” Charles conceded.

“‘A weed is but an unloved flower,’” Erik quoted, and leaned to take Charles’ chin in his dirty fingers.

Charles smiled as he held Erik’s eye contact, always mesmerized by those striking irises if only for a moment. “Unloved? Well, that’s a bit sad.”

Erik nodded, and then tucked the yellow dandelion behind Charles’ ear. “If you choose to love a weed, it’s no longer a weed. It becomes a flower.”

The warmth that had been building in Charles’ chest exploded, and he leaned forward, overcome with affection for his sweet and brilliant dope of a husband, without whom he would be entirely lost. “Is that what you did with me?” Charles asked before he caught Erik’s lips in a quick kiss. “Chose to love me, and I became a flower?”

“You’ve always been a flower,” Erik said against his lips. “And I’d plant you in my garden, over and over again.”


	5. Party (Your Party, My Party, Our Party)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Never miss a party…good for the nerves—like celery.  
> \- F. Scott Fitzgerald

Of all the days to be caught in the longest bloody traffic jam in the history of mankind, Erik expected that today was the worst day of all.

He was supposed to have been back at the mansion _two hours ago_ , as the students and staff had all been planning a surprise party for his husband. Keeping a surprise from a telepath was no easy feat, but they’d all been so, so diligent in their mental blocking and aversive tricks. Charles _might_ have an inkling that they were all up to something, but Erik truly thought that he had no idea what.

And here Erik was, pulling into the driveway, several hours after the big reveal. 

He knew he’d missed it. It had seemed a silly idea at first that he’d only entertained because it made the children happy, but the closer they’d come to the day, the more excited Erik had become, too. So rarely did Charles have the chance to be at the center of attention, be doted upon by the rest of them. _Never,_ did they get to surprise Charles, to catch him off guard or plan something like this without him.

And he’d been so looking forward to seeing the look on his husband’s face as he wheeled in to find his entire collection of students and staff, waiting for him in secret. Hopefully, someone had captured the whole thing on video.

Grumbling, Erik slammed his car door shut with more force than was strictly necessary, toting the stupid cake that had taken three hours to pick up. Apologies rehearsed in his mind as he hurried up the front steps, through the front entryway, into the darkened drawing room—

“SURPRISE!”

Suddenly, the room flooded with bright light, and Erik’s eyes grew to the size of saucers as he took in the sight before him. Arranged in a massive tableau was the entirety of the school’s population, grinning and laughing and ogling at him expectantly. In the center of the motley crew sat his own husband, beaming from under his mop of hair and shimmering party hat. 

“… _What?_ ” stammered Erik finally.

“Ve tricked you!” Kurt announced proudly, disappearing and reappearing in a cloud of smoke at Erik’s left. “Ve told you ze party was for ze Professor, but it’s for you!”

“Surprised, Pops?” asked the gust of wind that ruffled Erik’s hair, his son’s signature greeting. 

Erik didn’t understand. He’d been on his way back, delayed several hours by a sheer twist of fate. Unless—

“Storm flooded the highway for us, darling,” Charles clarified as he wheeled forward, smiling brilliantly, proudly. “Made the entire county late for their appointments, today. All for you.”

Erik blinked, suddenly overwhelmed by the entirety of the situation. For weeks, he’d been sneaking around, coordinating with staff and students, arranging decor and food and furniture…for his own surprise party. The cake, still in his hands, was Charles’ favorite chocolate cream, and it paled in comparison to the beautiful Black Forest cake arranged on the dining table pressed against the back wall. Snacks he’d selected for Charles (charcuterie and fruit) presented beside his own favorite selection of finger sandwiches, and the streamers and banners he’d bought hung brilliantly from the elegant lighting fixtures above.

All for him, Charles had said.

“Why?” He asked at last as the party guests began to wander toward the food tables, satisfied that their surprise had gone as planned. “This was supposed to be _your_ party, Charles. _Your_ birthday is next week.” 

“Celebrate me next week. Do you think you can really keep a surprise party from a telepath?” he asked keenly, waving at Erik to set the cake box aside. Once that was done, Charles took his hands and squeezed. “Because you deserve it, love. I never get to celebrate you in front of everyone.”

Erik squeezed back, unable to keep from dipping down to drop a kiss to Charles’ forehead. “Mm. Thank you. I’m mortified.”

“Brilliant,” Charles agreed, and tilted his head to capture Erik’s lips against his own. “The students will be distracted for hours now, you know.”

Erik raised his brow. “Hours, you think?”

“Mm. We could go celebrate each other somewhere else.”

A smirk creeping across his lips, Erik sunk his powers into Charles’ chair to begin steering them out of the room at once. “My favorite kind of party,” Erik admitted as he hurried them toward the lift. 

Charles smiled. “Mine too, darling.”


	6. Sunlight (Exposed and Indisposed)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You are the sunlight in my growing.  
> \- Led Zeppelin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, it is definitely _not_ March 6th, but I'm an undisciplined sloth. Anyway, here we have it!

“Erik? Erik, where in the world have you gone off to—oh.”

Charles paused in the threshold to the courtyard. Stretched languidly across a deck chair was his husband, shirtless and fast asleep in the afternoon sunlight. 

The dewy glow illuminated Erik’s body just so, a dance of light and shadow playing across his long torso. Taut skin covered his defined abdominals, carved by leanness rather than bulk. A barely-there trail of gingery hair dotted from his bellybutton and into the waistband of his jeans, which hugged those impossibly narrow hips _just so._

_Incredible,_ Charles thought to himself as he quietly wheeled into the courtyard, subliminally pulled to the utterly stunning specimen he was lucky to call his own. _Perfect. Beautiful. Amazing._

Erik’s face, too, was a work of art bathed in the sunlight. Russet scruff, sure to be sheared away with a razor by the time morning’s light cast its first peek, covered that striking jawline, and Charles, unable and unwilling to stop himself, caressed a single thumb along the patch of hair. His mouth was slightly ajar as he slept, face muscles relaxed. Peaceful.

A silent observer, Charles studied the planes of Erik’s body. It wasn’t often that the man exposed his body in an arena other than their bedroom, as Charles knew that he was self-conscious.

Smatterings of scars created pigmented and textured patterns across the inches of visible skin. Over the years, Charles had come to memorize the grooves in Erik’s skin, loving, cherishing, and honoring each one for how they came to make up the impeccable being that he was. However, the familiarity did not mitigate the catch that grew in his throat every time his eyes rested on those numbers inked into Erik’s forearm. 

In the rosy sunlight, those five black characters seemed unassuming, like an afterthought, which betrayed the weight that that they bore. A perfectly-preserved reminder of the past Erik could never leave behind, the past that humanity should never forget. A symbol of how far Erik had come, a reminder that they still had a long way to go before no one alive was free of such unjust pain.

Duality. Perfection and marring, beauty and pain, hope and anguish. Erik was all of those things at once. A patchwork of his past and his future. Charles could only gaze into the afternoon sky and thank the universe with all he had that he got to be _present_ with Erik, wrapped in that quilt of his person. 

Erik’s eyes fluttered as Charles ran the pad of his thumb over Erik’s cracked bottom lip. A moment of confusion, and then relief as their eyes found each other. They were alright, here. Safe. 

“Morning,” Charles greeted in a muted tone, unwilling to shatter the tranquility of the lazy afternoon. “Stricken by an impulse to take a shirtless nap?”

A soft smile crawled across Erik’s still-tired face, a smile which had become a more frequent appearance on his face in recent years. “My shirt got wet while I was watering your finicky roses,” Erik replied as he propped himself up on his elbows. “Let me put it back on.”

“Don’t,” Charles urged quickly, and when the flash of worry blitzed across Erik’s expression, Charles cupped Erik’s jaw in one hand. “You look too lovely in the sunlight.”

Erik’s eyes dropped to observe his body for a moment, and when a frown began to furrow his brow, Charles smoothed it away with his thumb. “No one else is home but me,” he promised. 

“We’re alone?”

“Mmhmm.”

In the next moment, Charles found himself swept out of his chair and into Erik’s arms. And then he himself was stretched across the deck chair, nestled into Erik’s side. “You look lovely in the sunlight, too,” Erik murmured, and began to press kisses along Charles’ neck. 

“St-stop,” Charles stuttered. His hands pried their way toward Erik’s body, suddenly unable to get enough contact. “I’m trying to—ungh—admire you!”

A press of lips against his own silenced the remainder of Charles’ complaints, and, in the handsome bath of sun, their wedding rings glinted before sheaths of hair and clothing masked their presence once more.


End file.
